Optica Eterna
by AlisonAPD
Summary: When the new queen orders Natasha to deliver Loki's heart, the huntress is torn between duty and her own heart. A genderbent version of the fairy tale (because Loki, with his white skin and black hair, makes a perfect Snow White) from a prompt by the-coldness-from-within on tumblr.
1. Portraits and Books

**1. Dark Shadow**

* * *

The messenger told Natasha she had to come directly to court, and so she had no time to change or even wash. As a result, after a hurried ride from her forest the huntress stood, still wearing her leathers, at the back of a crowd in the throne room. She lurked behind two countesses glorious in gilded finery, not wanting anyone to see her.

"What have you gifted the new queen?" The question came from the lady on the left; she had dark skin and hair so fine it looked like moonlit water.

"Two baby monkeys and an ell of silk banded with opals and gold. She managed to catch the king's eye quickly enough, wouldn't you say?" The speaker tossed gold curls off her shoulder and the action caused her to brush against Natasha's legs; the young countess looked at the huntress, frowned, and twitched the purple brocade of her skirts away.

Natasha checked a sigh and longed for a bath. When the visit to the palace was concluded at last, she planned to ride to the stream near her hut and swim under the stars with no thoughts of fashion, manners, or possible suitors. The huntress couldn't afford the first, grew impatient at the next, and longed to slash the last with her sword.

A door at the far end of the massive throne room opened, and the crowd jostled forward as one massive creature in the usual manner of throngs. Natasha was able to slip further to the back, a position that suited her perfectly – there she was able to observe not only the main actors of the little piece about to unfold on the raised dais but also the audience goggling from the floor.

King Odin appeared first and took his throne. He looked haggard, careworn; marketplace gossip had it he had never truly recovered from the death of his first wife. Even Natasha still felt Frigga's loss keenly, although she had never known her personally. The Queen had been well-loved within and outside of the palace; it was difficult to believe her kind, intelligent face would never be seen in Asgard again.

The king beckoned, and the doors opened again. Natasha felt a rush of interest go through the assembled courtiers, and the young countess with gold ringlets stood on tiptoe to get a better look at the new queen.

Queen Lorelei she was now, and that was all anyone knew of her. The woman had arrived from a foreign land as claimant for Odin's hand in marriage; five months later they were engaged.

The young queen entered, her chin held high. She sat next to Odin, and very strange it was to see someone other than Frigga in that chair. Natasha remembered meeting the former queen when she was a girl; the woman struck her instantly with her low-pitched voice and air of calm authority.

Queen Lorelei was much more difficult to read. She turned to her husband, accepted his words of welcome and introduction, and inclined her head sharply as a sign she accepted the position as his wife and ruler of the court.

The woman was lovely; her perfect oval face put even the golden countess to shame. Long chestnut braids framed high cheekbones and a wide-set gaze; she smiled at something Odin murmured to reveal teeth like matched pearls. Delicate pink suffused her cheeks when he took her hand in his. In short, she was perfect.

However, as she stood and delivered a charming speech thanking all in the palace for her welcome, Natasha felt a shudder wriggled down her spine. Looking at the new queen was like watching a snake grow arms and legs, a little jeweled serpent who stunned with its beauty before sinking poisonous fangs into soft flesh…

Natasha gave herself a thorough shake to rid her mind of the disturbing image. She had spent all day among the trees near the lake trying to rout out a _draugr_ in a silted lake, and perhaps her efforts had made her tired and dreamy as a result. Still, she desperately wanted to escape the crowded throne room; she had no idea why she had been summoned in the first place. Perhaps nobody would notice if she crept into the hall and caught her breath.

The guards stared ahead as she slipped outside into a silent passage lined with archways, and hurriedly she stole through one. She emerged in a long chamber lined with paintings, full-length portraits of the king, the former queen, and their two sons.

She, however, didn't notice the tell paintings of royalty in ornate clothes. Her attention was caught instead by a pile of books on low table wrought in gold; instantly Natasha forgot the reptilian queen and the supercilious crowd. She stole forward and couldn't resist running one fingertip down the back of one volume worked in tooled leather; the title was picked out in silver letters: Ragnarsdrápa. Skaldic verse was one of her favorite things to read, and Natasha couldn't resist taking down the book from the shelf, opening the heavy cover, and turning to the first page. Her lips moved with the familiar words; "Battle is called Storm…"

"What are you doing in here?" The voice, so loud and filled with fury, made Natasha start. Quickly she covered her surprise and turned to see who had interrupted her.

By the Gods, it was the young Prince himself. Instantly she fell into a deep curtsy (very difficult to achieve in leathers) and bowed her head to look at the toes of her mud-splattered boots. "My apologies, your Highness. I grew faint in the crowd and came here to regain my breath in the fresh air."

"Nonsense." Prince Loki, a pale figure in silver and black, strode forward to grasp her chin and tilt it up as he flicked his gaze over her. "You aren't the type to 'grow faint', as you put it – as a matter of fact, you don't look the type to be here at all." With a sudden movement he released her. "Are you an intruder?"

At that Natasha lost her temper. "A messenger came to my house to fetch me at once, and as a result I had no time for bathing or fine clothes. I make my living hunting game in my woods, and thus you must excuse my dust." She folded her arms, quite prepared to continue the argument if he insisted.

But instead Loki's lips quivered, and he indicated the book in her hand. "Behold an original! A woman in breeches who seems to enjoy tales of war on the side. 'And that baleful Witch of Women, Wasting the fruits of victory, Took governance on the island…'"

Natasha grinned; she loved that passage. "…All the Ship-King's war-host Went wrathful 'neath the firm shields.'"

Loki stabbed the air in the direction of the throne-room. "The lines are fateful, are they not? It seems to me the Witch of Women is now holding the fruits of victory in her soft hands, and they were handed to her willingly by my father." His eyes grew hard as chips of glass.

The door to the passage was still open; Natasha quickly went to the arch and closed it. "My prince, these words are dangerous should they fall on the wrong ears," she murmured. "Although the guards may not understand the lines we quoth to each other just now, any serpent may slither in hidden corners and suspect treachery where there is none."

"Serpent," he repeated. With another of his sudden movements, Loki seized her wrist in his long fingers. "Why do you describe danger thus, I wonder?"

They stared at each other, and something hung between them. Perhaps it was his desire to find someone who understood, Natasha reflected; obviously the prince trusted the new queen no more than she did. Moreover the court gossips told of his overwhelming sorrow when Frigga was killed; to lose a parent was heartbreaking, and to see another in their place unforgivable. When that place was the throne, the sensation had to be that of poison on a sharp tooth under the skin.

However, she was a huntress and he was a prince. Their situations yawned between them like a gulf.

Her lips parted to give a sensible answer, one hiding her true thoughts, but impatiently Loki waved away her unspoken words. "Do not attempt to hide behind etiquette and morality," he hissed. "By my troth, I nearly stifled on the atmosphere in the throne room – all those courtiers goggling and jostling to be the first to get into Lorelei's good books."

His statement, a reflection of her own feelings, made Natasha gasp. "But I experienced the same!" she couldn't help saying. "It's why I ran here - I was choking for lack of air." He nodded, and she was emboldened to continue. "The books intrigued me, and I simply had to take a look – for this I beg your forgiveness." She handed Ragnarsdrápa to the prince and made as if to leave, certain she had fulfilled her duty to the royal messenger who fetched her to the court in the first place.

Loki detained her by tightening his grasp on her wrist. "Do not go just yet," he ordered. "The entire palace is filled with jesters and gape-harlequins. To meet someone who has a mind of her own is like breathing the fresh mist of the forest. If I may borrow your own analogy?"

Natasha felt her face dimple with irrepressible humor. "You may."

A tiny tug pulled her closer to his side. "And do I exaggerate if I guess you feel Queen Frigga's loss as keenly as I do?"

She stared into his eyes, so close she could see her own face inside his pupils as a dark shadow. "Frigga was…" A block of salt seemed to get stuck in her throat, and she couldn't finish.

The tiny reflections of her face wavered in his pupils, and abruptly he let her go. "Yes, she was. And so much more – you have no idea. In a topsy-turvy world spinning around me, she was the core."

_And now she is gone._ Natasha didn't speak the words; Prince Loki looked close to breaking point, try as he might to present a calm front. "Are these books from her library?" she hazarded.

The question earned her a small sign of humor, a mere curve of his lips. "Why, yes, they are. Many evenings we sat together, and she taught me her lore or read her favorite books – she loved Ragnarsdrápa as well, Huntress." A slight frown creased his brow, and he blurted, "What is your name?"

"Natasha Romanov, my prince."

"Ah, I have it now. The ward of Ivan Petrovitch, no?"

"Just so." The thought of Ivan tossing with fever in a hospital a few leagues hence, make her chest burn. Her guardian, so gentle and dear, had to get better – he simply _had _to. No need, she thought, to tell that to the prince – it was her own business. Hers and Ivan's.

"And thus you earn your porridge? By setting traps and selling the skins?"

"Not only that." Natasha flung back her head; he was the taller by several handspans, and she wanted to keep her dignity despite the muddy leathers. "Sometimes I am hired to dispatch an errant bilgesnipe. This very day I went in search of a draugr in the lake."

"And did you ensnare him?" The prince seemed fascinated.

"It was a female, Highness. Alas, she was more slippery than I bargained. Tomorrow brings another day of schemes to win the creature into my nets. It has already stolen several children and the livelihood of the village already, so I suppose this quest has become a personal challenge."

His head dipped lower as if to catch each word. "Yours must be an existence fraught with danger – perilous and exciting at once."

"Exactly." Natasha allowed her eyes to flash with the passion she felt for her trade. "Indeed I could never be a miller or brewer, each day the same as the next with only the passage of seasons to make life different."

Prince Loki laughed, a deep-noted chuckle resonating in her very bones. "No, I could hardly imagine you atop a windmill heaving sacks of flour to market. But what of reading, huntress? What of that?"

"It is my second life," Natasha admitted. "Although danger is my lot, it will be spent in the boundaries of Ivan's woods. The pages of stories such as this bring me to new realms and keep me satisfied." She held out Ragnarsdrápa once more, and he took one end so they both held the book between them. For a moment, it embodied a new bond.

"What of adventure, then? Suppose you had the chance to sail on a blood-red sea and never look back?"

"Why, I should run with open arms to the opportunity, should it ever arise and I were free to pursue it. But of course it will not, and so I content myself with my little hut, Ivan's forest, and the few books I do own." She pushed the book into his hand and stepped back; it was time to put some space between her and the young prince.

Perhaps it was already too late; as if he had become the pursuer, Prince Loki closed the gap once more; she felt his breath fan her cheek as he whispered, "You are more like me than I ever could have imagined. So long I have been alone, it nearly unmans me to think I could find a …"

The door to the library opened with a crash. One guard stood in the arch; he stood aside and bowed.

Lorelei, the new queen, wafted past the man into the room. "There you are," she trilled. "Huntress, I sent for you. Come to my chambers now so you may attend me."

Without waiting for assent, she left the room. Her ermine-trimmed cloak swirled after her; ambergris perfume hung in the air even when she was gone.

Prince Loki's eyes narrowed, and his expression grew hard. "I see," he declared. "By the Gods, you are the finest hunter it has ever been my privilege to meet! Still, you'll not have me as tonight's catch in your little trap. Enjoy meeting the new queen."

"Prince, I had no idea she wanted my presence," Natasha tried to protest. However, it was already too late. He strode out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

She was left alone, surrounded by ancient tales and lost loves pressed into the pages of forgotten volumes.


	2. Stream Filled with Stars

**2. Stream Filled with Stars**

* * *

A stern guard chivvied her up several flights of gilded stairs to a huge set of chambers now inhabited by the new queen. Natasha got the impression she was supposed to be overwhelmed by luxury and beauty; she played it up, therefore, keeping her gaze lowered and her voice humble with awe as she greeted the queen. Blending in with Lorelei's admirers would be good camouflage, Natasha thought.

Queen Lorelei stood beside a tapestry the size of a small playing field hanging from rings on a long pole; one corner fluttered down as the huntress entered. _Did it cover something?_ Natasha wondered. Years of learning to read small signs in the woods, observe a prey's actions, let her see the queen was hiding a secret. Natasha's rampant curiosity made her want to investigate what lay behind the tapestry and Queen Lorelei's forced calm, but of course it was impossible.

"They say you can take down any enemy you face," the Queen stated. There was no return greeting, no polite exchange. "Is this true?"

"I had the honor of slaying the Whyte Wyrm of Kynance," Natasha replied. "The dragon's scourge ended when I slew the beast and freed the village."

"What jobs will you accept?" The Queen paced a few steps before sitting in a carved chair in a swirl of skirts. "Any you can find, or do you pick and choose?"

"My fee is high, and some work can be done by lesser hunters. Rather than cheat money from my clients' pockets, I inform them if the job is worth my dues."

"I see." Lorelei snapped her fingers, and an elegant maid scurried forward with a hand mirror and a pot of lip rouge; the queen studied her face from several angles. Natasha checked a sigh and wished she could leave the palace and return to her tiny cottage. The entire trip, after Prince Loki's bad temper and the Queen's studied arrogance, had been ill-advised.

The queen dropped the mirror onto a cluttered dressing table. "Are you discreet?"

"Of course." The question piqued Natasha's pride. She waited, but the queen merely picked up a gold brush and started applying some substance to her eyelashes. "Did you want to hire me?" she asked.

"Not today." Lorelei blew on the brush, snapped her fingers once more, and told the maid she wanted wine.

Natasha decided to take that as dismissal and strode out of the room.

* * *

The first few stars were already out by the time she reached her cottage. Of course, the woods were always dim, and whenever Natasha left the constant darkness of the old trees she was dazzled by sunlight. With a sigh of relief she entered her little house, slipped out of her leathers, and hung them to air out. Her belly grumbled, but she decided to have a bath before she ate; her skin was sticky with sweat from the long day spent among royal company.

There was a flat tin bath under her bed, but Natasha decided steal to the stream for a night swim. No one would see her, and she could return before the moons were full in the sky.

She wrapped a linen towel around her as a shift, padded across the moss to a tiny rock pool her stepfather had made during his years in the forest and climbed in. It was cold enough to make her teeth chatter, but the sensation was invigorating. After so much time in crowded throne rooms and negotiations with royalty, the brisk temperature of the water cleared her head. Natasha dunked her head under, blew out a stream of water, and floated on the surface. Through the leafy boughs of the trees above she could see the stars and moons wheel overhead, and their reflection surrounded her in the dark water. Drifting on the surface was like flying between two worlds.

A leaf fell into the stream, dappling the reflection. She started up, her heart pounding – a distant footstep or horse's hoof could have caused it. Silently she glided out of the water, picked up the towel, and tiptoed back to her cottage. It would be a bore to get caught in the middle of the woods with nothing on, even though she could defend herself with her bare hands… still, such an encounter would raise all sorts of unwanted possibilities as well as revelations of her own little private space - not to mention her naked body.

The moss-covered stones were cold underfoot. Instinctively Natasha avoided a tiny toad out in the young night to catch a few errant nightwings before the forest descended into starry sleep. Silent as a moth, she opened the door and slipped inside her house.

The dark figure in front of the tiny hearth made her skitter to a stop, made the breath catch in her throat.

"What did Lorelei want with you, huntress?" Prince Loki never moved when he asked the question, nor did he turn around.

Natasha fisted the linen against her chest and smothered a curse. She wanted to eat some bread, climb into her bed and fall into a sleep black and silent as the woods, but instead she had to confront the prince's fury once more. She made her voice calm, hiding her own anger. "The Queen never said. She asked if I was good at my trade, if I was discreet. I told her I was the best available, and she dismissed me. I have the feeling I should be…"

"She is not the queen!" He threw a heavy object onto the ground near her feet and whirled to face her; Loki's eyes grew huge when he saw she wore nothing more than a towel tucked around her form.

"No, you are quite right. She is not the queen." She lifted her chin, refusing to feel ashamed. "If you would give me a few moments…?"

For one moment he thought he would lunge at her, hold her there, refuse to allow her to move. Loki's better nature seemed to take hold of him, and he held out one long arm in the direction of her bedchamber to sketch a mocking bow. "Of course."

* * *

Ivan had handed Natasha a few of her mother's things on the girl's sixteenth birthday; among them were a silver locket, an embroidered slipper case, and a long robe made of fine lawn. Natasha plucked the garment off the hook, tied the sash with a jerk, and paused to listen. Would Loki leave her tiny house and return to the palace?

Used to analyzing tiny sounds – even different types of silence – Natasha heard nothing. For one who was used to trapping and slaughtering her prey, the prince's ability to disappear was frustrating, even disconcerting.

"I am still here, Huntress," he called. It was as though he could see into her mind.

Natasha shuddered and reemerged into the main room. The fire in the hearth had burned down to a bed of orange coals, and she knelt to add a few knots of wood; Prince Loki looked down from his height and his severe expression seemed to soften for a moment. "Lorelei asked if you were discreet. The question implies she wants you for a secret quest." The prince extended his hand once more and helped her stand. The new wood popped slightly, and she used the sound to pretend to be startled as an excuse to move away from him.

The forest was utterly silent; her little house very isolated. It was the perfect setting for a seduction, and a smile lurking in Loki's eyes showed he had the same thought.

Natasha frowned and put her hands behind her back. "If she asks me for anything else – and I think she will - I could inform you. Is it easy to find you in such an immense castle?"

"Hm." He appeared to consider. "I can usually be found in the library."

"Is the place near where we spoke earlier?"

Again that glint of a smile. "Indeed, no. Frigga had a private salon with attached garden – she used to teach me there."

"Will the guards show me to the room, should we need to meet?"

"I shall advise them as such. Ask for Astrid – she has known me since I was a child."

"Very well."

It seemed there was no more to be said. Loki bowed once more. She felt both relief and regret as his slim, upright figure moved to the door; there he pushed the latch and hesitated. With a ironic smile he bent, picked up the object he had thrown earlier, and held it out to her. "I brought this for you to read, not to hurl at your feet. Forgive my bad manners, huntress."

The heat of the fire warmed the skin on Natasha's thighs as she took the gift, a copy of Ragnarsdrápa. The leather crackled against her thumb as she weighed it in one hand. "I cannot accept this," she protested.

"But you can. I saw the love in your eyes as you spoke the lines with me today, love for the words. You caressed them with your lips, tasted them with your tongue."

"As did you," Natasha couldn't help retorting. "And this is a loan, my prince. I will return it to you when we meet in your mother's library."

A sudden grin bared white teeth and rogue dimples. "I like that idea. And I can give you another tale in its place, one you have never read before."

"I'd like that as well." Natasha ran one finger down the spine of Ragnarsdrápa; as she did he shiveredred as though he could feel her nail sliding down his flesh. In truth she was glad to have the book, for she only had three others and had read them so often she knew them by heart. Natasha had Ragnarsdrápa by heart as well, but it would be good to see the words by candlelight and caress them on the page just as she did with her lips, according to the prince.

"One more thing."

"Yes?" She tilted back her head to look up at him, and he bent down so his mouth was right next to her ear.

"The flames in your hearth light betrayed you. When you stood on your hearth, I could see through your robe as though it didn't exist."

Natasha sucked in her breath to tell him off and demand he leave at once, but it was already too late. In a swirl of green cape, Prince Loki was gone.


	3. The Draugr

**3. The Draugr**

* * *

"I hear the huntress slew the Draugr handily, thus delivering the town. 'Tis said she skinned him and wears his leathers as a prize to remind us just how lethal she is."

Loki, idly sipping his wine and counting the moments until he could slip away, felt his ears prick up. Fandral had to be talking about Natasha; she had mentioned the Draugr as her next job. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine her in tight black leather breeches and stifled his inrush of breath the image caused.

Lorelei sat next to him, so closely her long sleeve lapped over his knee. "Are you quite well?" she asked, frowning slightly in what he supposed was concern.

"Quite well," Loki snapped.

"They say the battle was epic! Already the bards prepare lays in honor of the huntress." Fandral sighed in mock melancholy and allowed his gaze to soften in the direction of Natasha's forest. "She was actually here to visit the court – and I missed speaking with the maiden! Everyone is agog to meet her."

"She is a private person." Instantly Loki regretted the words, but the thought of anyone admiring Natasha made his blood boil.

"You have spoke with her, in that case?" Fandral's hooded eyes swept over the prince. "Was she fascinating?"

"I'm afraid we argued more than spoke."

"Ah!" The courtier grinned. "A girl with spirit, then – it bodes well for the bedchamber. I am tired of females who simper and rush to repaint their faces once I am done with them."

"You are a fool." Loki felt he would explode with rage. "Not everything is about the bedchamber."

"You could be right," Fandral drawled. "However I prefer my flirtations to lead to eventual pillow talk and sweet surrender." Perhaps he saw Loki's anger reflected in the prince's face; quickly he changed the subject. "Have you heard your brother returns from Midgard? Any day now he should arrive at the palace."

"That oaf!" Loki snorted. "Has he completed his quest so quickly?"

"I know not, but we will learn of it when he returns. Will you attend me if I have a gathering in his honor? A week hence, let us say? I can promise the finest wines, the most beautiful maidens…"

* * *

Having accepted the invitation, Loki slouched away to Frigga's library. He felt he had given up more information than he had learned, and he longed to hear Natasha's tale of her hunt for the Draugr. The fierce water spirits were said to eclipse entire villages; they were slippery as fish and deadly as dragons. Some held magic in their bones and guarded their spoils with seething jealousy.

_So, how would Natasha manage to slay such a vile, dangerous creature?_ Loki stared at the titles with unseeing eyes as he pondered the conundrum. _She must be exceedingly intelligent, he thought, even more so than I first imagined. Strong, as well. And slippery with it, perhaps as sly the Draugr itself…_

She had managed to evade his advances the night he breached her house. Only one slender tie lay between him and the huntress: the borrowed copy of Ragnarsdrápa. Certainly it would make complete sense if he returned to the forest with another book. His excuse could be he needed Ragnarsdrápa for a piece of scholarship or research; such a request would seem entirely natural, and if he offered another in its stead he might reap a smile as a reward. Infused with enthusiasm for the first time since Frigga had died, Loki scanned the shelves closely for a book Natasha would enjoy. The thought of the draugr she had slain made him pick up _Hrómundar_, but the saga was dreary and filled with men shouting at each other he put it back. _Laxdæla_ was a bit better, but not much…

Immersed in those pleasant thought, Loki missed the panel door to the library opening. A lilting, musical voice breathed over his neck; "Here you are," the new queen said. "I have been looking for you during what seems an age."

Cautiously he withdrew and sat in one of the leather chairs by the fire to put some distance between them. "You might have sent for me," Loki replied in the coldest tones he could summon.

She made it worse by perching on the arm of the seat he had chosen. "Oh, heavens! Summoning and servants – I'll never get used to it all. Besides, I wanted to talk to you in private. Have you heard your brother returns?"

"Naturally - we discussed it with the jape Fandral an hour hence." Loki jumped up and returned to the shelves, starting to feel like a hunted draugr with a witch breathing down his back.

"And of course we will have several parties, dances and the like to celebrate, but in the meantime I must attend Fandral's ball. Did you receive an invitation?" Her breath was on the back of his neck once more, making him itchy.

"I heard it mentioned." His skin was beginning to crawl with her proximity; not only was she usurping Frigga's throne but her library as well. Lorelei in her silks and satins made an incongruous figure among the old books and beloved furniture, each piece evocative of his mother and her kindness.

"The king is busy that evening. Will you take me instead?"

"Madam, I hardly think that is appropriate…" Loki stopped. A dangerous sparkle had come into the queen's eyes, as though she were merely waiting for him to make a misstep. "Of course, if Odin sanctions it I will attend you at the soiree," he finished smoothly.

Did he see a shade of disappointment cross her features? It was gone in an instant. "Thank you so much," she breathed. "What a lovely room. Perhaps we might sit together here in the evenings."

Loki turned away from her so she wouldn't see his fury. "I only entered to find a book. In truth I never come to this room any longer." He seized a volume - _Hrómundar_ after all – and strode out of the room, miserably conscious of the queen's pleased, victorious smile.

* * *

"Why did you have to take her as wife out of all the women in Asgard?" Loki paced in front of Odin's chair, seething. "She destroys our mother's memories simply by existing. Her presence polluted Frigga's library just now…'twas our private place!"

"I had to marry again, Loki." Odin's calm voice cut into his anger. "As ruler of Asgard, my position is perilous if I do not have a queen."

"But why _her_?" His voice rose to a shout.

"Fighting so soon?"

Thor entered the chamber with a broad grin. As soon as Odin saw his son, an answering grin creased his beard, and he stood with both arms out. Loki watched with slitted eyes as his father and brother embraced; Odin seemed relieved at the interruption. Of course he would be - who wouldn't prefer the company of cheerful, witless Thor to Loki's despair and pointed questions?

"Have you met our new queen yet, brother?" he sneered.

After a pause, Thor answered. "Aye. She welcomed me home and told me to wait on her later after I greeted my father."

"Such pretty words. Maybe she will turn into a tomtit and sing for us all in her gilded cage. It's how she sees the palace, you know – her chosen cage. And when she has no more use for it, she will fly with our fortunes into …"

"Enough!" Odin shouted. "Get out, both of you. I must prepare for a long series of meetings with my ministers. The crown sits heavily, and one day one of you will discover just what that means."

"Of course he refers to you," Loki murmured to Thor as they left the chamber. "He would never allow me to rule Asgard."

"You infuriate him on purpose!" Thor shook his head. "Have things between you gotten even worse?"

"It is all her fault," Loki sulked. He knew he was acting like a child, but Lorelei's intrusion into his one private space had stabbed him to the heart like an arrow.

Thor stopped and pulled him into a private niche. "The new queen seems overly attentive," he whispered. "Did you notice it as well?"

His neck prickling with caution, Loki nodded. "One word of this and we could lose our heads," he murmured. "We must avoid her as much as we can."

"We could ride to Østenblad and talk more about it, but I hear a draugr has arrived to terrorize the village and its lake."

"Ah." A flood of pride deep as though he had slain the creature himself filled Loki to his very bones. "No longer! The foul beast is no more, or so I hear in the court. Fandral told me the news this very day."

"Is this true? Who has the ability to take down such a fearful shade? 'Tis said even Mjolnir passes through their sliming skins."

"A huntress." Loki didn't want to say any more, but something in his tone must have alerted Thor.

"A huntress! What is her name, brother? I would meet this goddess of the chase and see her with my own eyes."

Hating himself, Loki tried to deflect the conversation. "No one of any consequence. She is the ward of Ivan Petrovitch, a country squire now struck down by the plague."

"Petrovitch," Thor mused. "I remember the name. Is he with the healers? We could visit and see how he fares, if you like. And I shall give this huntress an invitation to Fandral's gathering so I can meet her in person."

"No!" Fury throttled every inch of Loki's frame. He seized Thor's elbow and dragged him to a nearby courtyard. "Our new queen," he added bitterly, "has commanded me to accompany her to the party. I am certain it will be an eternal evening filled with her wiles and flirtations. To have Natasha there on top of it would be torture…" He stopped, realizing he had given out her name.

Thor grinned. "Do not worry, brother. You think me slow-witted, but I see now how things stand. Bring the queen to the party, and I will make certain you are free to spend time with this 'Natasha'. What mere usurper to the throne could tackle the Odinson boys if we put our minds together?"

For the first time that day, Loki felt a bolt of relief shoot through him, and an answering smile curled his lips. "You could be right, brother. And I have heard it said Fandral's estate has many quiet corners and private gardens to explore."

"There you have it." Thor bellowed with laughter. "Send word to your huntress, and I shall fix things on my end."

He was about to march off, but Loki stopped him. "Thor – I just – it is – it is not so bad to have you back in the palace." He left, but not before he saw the delighted surprise on his brother's face.


	4. The Taste of Treachery

**4. The Taste of Treachery**

* * *

"You need to think about what you want to achieve as the possible future king of Asgard." Lorelei's robe swished over Loki's ankles as he escorted her into the candlelit ballroom filled wide dresses and looped skirts, worn by duchesses and courtiers alike.

"I'll never be the King of Asgard." Loki felt his lip curl as he escorted the queen to a throng of ladies; they all immediately rushed to greet her with a bevy of various nonsensical statements.

"Such a crush, is it not?"

"What an incredible robe – you put the rest of us to shame."

"We never expected to see you here this evening, Your Majesty!" The last speaker was Freya, delivering her compliments with a toss of blue-black hair over her dark face; Loki thought she looked very beautiful as the color rose in her cheeks. The ice-blue satin she wore only accentuated the shadows in her cheeks and throat.

"I see your new son attends you," Skaði said to Lorelei with a wink. "How does it feel to have such a handsome boy?"

"Tell me, does he need succor in the middle of the night?" another lady added.

"Perhaps he wishes to crawl into your sheets after a nightmare…"

"I would not mind being woken by such a son!"

Their wit flowed on; Loki hid his disgust and beckoned for champagne. A servant popped a bottle open, and under cover of bubbles flowing into glasses modeled on the shape of Freya's breasts according to one cheeky courtier, he managed to make his escape. Only a few months earlier he would have accepted Skaði's come-hither glance and twirled her onto the dance floor with the other merry couples; Frigga's death had changed him into a more serious creature. And so as he regarded the laughing throng, Loki had the fancy he beheld two scenes with one laid over the other like gossamer: a version where he flirted and drank, and the true one with his present self who moodily stayed on the outside of the crowd, regarding the other guests as though they were a different species.

There were the Baldr twins, interlacing their fingers under the table in forbidden caresses as usual.

There was Iduna, displaying her ankles as she circled under Fandral's arm.

There was Ågir, approaching Freya with a hungry look on his lean face.

And Lorelei, who listened to Skaði prattle in her ear with her gaze fixed on Loki.

He turned away and saw at last what he sought all along. Natasha stood by Thor's side, her green eyes peeking from under her red hair like those of a creature hiding in the forest. His heart stuttered in his chest, and he started forward to claim her as his own; he felt as though there was a string between them, taut and thrumming with energy. But the moment was lost as several of the courtiers measured Natasha with sidelong glances; Loki watched one particularly nasty little duke mutter some poisonous comment just loud enough to be overheard. The skin of the huntress turned pale, and with one quick motion Thor compressed his lips and tugged her onto the dance floor and the safety of his arms.

Loki was left behind, gasping with anger. _He_ was the one who should have been holding the flame-haired chasseuse, not Thor, and he watched from behind a pillar as the two swayed and circled in the movements of the dance, imagining a conversation filled with flirtation and heated innuendo. His fingers curled with fury, but he simply couldn't look away.

"Enjoying the party?" Freya handed him a glass filled with some sparkling drink; never taking his eyes off the two Loki tossed it down his throat.

"No." He held out the cup and she refilled it.

"I'm not surprised, since you choose to languish in the corner by yourself. Do you not see there are many who long to claim you as partner, Prince?"

He swallowed the second drink and squinted at her. "Are there?" Perhaps if Natasha saw him dally with some of the company she would appreciate his charms a bit more. Probably he came off as a dull dog – after all, when he went to visit a beautiful woman, he brought a book as a gift. _A book!_

"Brother."

Thor's voice broke into his thoughts, and Loki scowled. "Is it enjoyable to monopolize the most beautiful woman here?" Thor cleared his throat, and belatedly Loki realized Natasha stood behind him. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the fumes of drink from his mind. "That is, I …" For the first time in his life, Loki felt tongue-tied.

"The Queen approaches. I shall take her to dance. Meanwhile, why do you not show the huntress Fandral's gardens?" Thor winked and slipped away; a moment later Loki heard his brother's laugh answered by Lorelei's crystal tinkle of amusement.

"_Are_ you going to show me the gardens?" Natasha's gaze was very direct. "Or a conservatory, perhaps? I am certain Fandral has a collection of etchings, if you are desparate."

Obviously she divined his intentions. Recovering his smooth manner, Loki held out his arm. "Just come with me for a breath of fresh air. I promise to return you safely."

She ignored his arm and strode out of the room with none of the lilting graces adopted by the women of the court. Loki followed as closely as he dared, and as they passed a wide window he indicated it. "Here. Let us go and stroll on the lawns for just a short time."

"Your Highness, I never 'stroll.'"

"So I see." Loki undid the catch, flung back the shutters, and jumped out of the casement onto the grass below; he held out his hands to catch her, but she ignored him and landed on her own. "By the by," he muttered, "I already asked you to call me Loki."

"Yes, of course you did." Natasha cleared her throat. "The truth is I don't do well in society or court appearances. Perhaps my job of chasing wild creatures has given me a touch of wildness myself, thus to languish inside a warm room with mirrors and candlelight is akin to being locked in a cage."

He allowed himself to imagine her on the hunt, prowling through the trees with sword in hand. The image made the blood rush to his sex, and he turned to hide his arousal. "I find it all tedious as well, but I have no woods nor means of escape. A prince must consider his time as belonging to the people, for them to schedule as they see fit."

Natasha stopped and looked out over the darkened lawns of Fandral's estate, and her firm line of lips softened. "I see. It must be very difficult – the feeling you are imprisoned by duty."

"Exactly." She was intelligent as well as lovely and wild; Loki felt himself sliding as though he skidded on ice and could no longer look at his world in quite the same way, ever again. "Huntress, although we live very differently you and I have far more in common than one would imagine."

A late nightingale bubbled with sweet song; two paperwhites glided over the meadow and threatened to alight in Natasha's hair. Gravely she considered him, and after a spell of silence she nodded. "Perhaps we do."

The birdsong died out, and silence surged back in its place – a moment filled with mystery as if they were about to open an ancient chest filled with treasure. Loki's lips parted, his breath quickened, his control fled. He wanted nothing more than to reach for her, to plunge his fingers into those curls, clasp her tiny figure to his, experience the sharp ecstasy of her mouth, the taste of her tongue…

"Loki! My son!" The trilling voice broke into their reverie. Loki groaned as Lorelei tripped across the grass, followed by an apologetic-looking Thor.

"The Queen insisted on finding you," he muttered as they grew close.

Loki's jaw hardened with frustration, and he turned to Natasha. All caution was gone; he was determined to make an assignation among her trees or his books, and there he would kiss her again and again, until they both were breathless…

No one stood next to him. Somehow the huntress Natasha Romanov had flitted away like the paperwhites.

Thus Loki allowed himself to be towed back to the glittering throng with Queen Lorelei and Thor. Someone popped a bottle of champagne and poured it into their glasses; a witty game involving the ladies' necklines was proposed. After several more drinks Loki felt his laughter growing louder and more reckless. The air grew warm and close, and everything whirled into a tumble of candlelight and bawdy company.

As for Natasha, it seemed she had disappeared from the party altogether.

* * *

With a loud groan, Loki covered his eyes. Broad sunlight streamed into the chamber, striping the sheets and the legs of the women next to him. He grunted and prepared to fall back to sleep, when …

_Women next to him! What the merry devil…?_

The prince jumped out of bed and seized the sheet to wrap around his hips. There among the crumpled covers lay the new queen and Freya. Both were asleep, and their faces bore the undignified marks of what must have been a thorough debauch from the night before. With a long stream of curses, Loki backed away from Lorelei's bed, crept out to the hall, and avoided the eyes of the guards outside the door. Praying he would meet neither Odin nor Thor, his footsteps pounded over the flagstones until with a sigh of relief he gained his room.

There he stripped, threw on a robe, and rang the bell for a bath.

As he lay in the warm water, Loki wondered what had happened the night before. After the first few drinks it was all a blur. Had he made a complete idiot of himself? And, worse, had Natasha seen his descent into madness? Or what if she and Thor had… With a strangled roar, Loki surged out of the bath. He toweled furiously, stepped into the first suit of clothes he could find, and strode out to find his brother.

He didn't have to go far. Thor's bellowing laugh was heard around the next corner; Loki ran smack into him and some tall, dark-haired woman who looked vaguely familiar. "Brother, I must speak with you," he began.

"Indeed! First, allow me to present the Lady Sif, here to represent the country of Vanaheim." Thor beamed and the lady bowed slightly.

Loki nodded. He was too distracted to notice much about her, other than her height and general impression of severe strength. "Brother," he repeated. "Alone."

"Very well." Thor murmured something to the Lady Sif and accompanied Loki to a nearby balcony. "What is it?"

"I must ask you what occurred last night," Loki gasped. He was almost afraid to hear the response.

"Ah, of course! I should have told you earlier. The Huntress Natasha felt out of sorts, and so she asked if she could leave early. Naturally I escorted her to the edge of the forest, and she assured me she could reach her house on her own." Thor twisted to his brother, a quizzical look on his face. "Do you think I did wrong? Should I have ridden with her to the place she lives?"

Loki shook his head. "She never saw me? Never saw how I …"

"No, I am sorry. She insisted it was time for her to leave after only one dance."

A glow of relief spread through Loki's limbs. It seemed he had escaped utter ruin; the lady had left before his disgrace and public drunkenness. "No matter," he mumbled. "I should have known better to trust such an important assignment to you."

Thor's response was a long bout of laughter and a clap on the shoulder. Loki left him with Lady Sif, determined to forget the hideous affair.

His satisfaction lasted until after dinner. As he prepared for an early night's rest, determined to wake early and find the elusive huntress, the door to his chamber opened and the new queen entered; with an impulsive movement, Lorelei ran to Loki's side. "I thought the king would never finish his dinner!" she cried before she flung her arms around his neck and pressed her red lips to his.

Loki stifled an oath and disentangled himself from her clutches. "I beg your pardon, madam."

Her eyes widened. "But last night!" she began.

"Last night was a drunken mistake. It is surprising you choose to bring it up at all." He thrust her to arms' length and stared at a spot over her head, hoping she would leave soon. Weariness from the late night and wine poured over him, and he wanted nothing more than his bed.

The wide, innocent look disappeared, and her fine brows puckered. "Should your father hear of this, he would be mightily displeased," the queen hissed.

"Indeed he would," Loki rejoined instantly. "But whom would he punish for it? I might be sent away from court, but an faithless queen is sure to lose her head." With a harsh, sudden movement he turned away, unable to look at her any longer. Lorelei was a reminder of his own indiscretion, lewd behavior symbolized by flesh.

"It is amazing what tales a wife can spin to lead her husband to a desired understanding," the queen began in a heated tone, but Loki interrupted.

"Enough. I am tired of this conversation. If I had been in my right mind, I can assure you this would never have happened."

"No?" Her voice softened once more, and she slid soft fingers around his arm. In his current mood they felt disgusting, like tentacles or slow-worms. "Are you so certain of that? For you were keen enough last night…"

"I said _enough!_" he shouted.

Lorelei snatched her hand away; he heard her quickened breath heave through her chest. "I see," she hissed. "Very well, I will leave you to your own devices. But if you think all is finished between us, you are sorely mistaken."

The ermine robe trailed behind her as she departed and slammed the door. Silence surged back in her absence, charged with regret and deep disappointment.


	5. Healers and Queens

**5. Healers and Queens**

* * *

"Do you remember when I used to toss you up into the air and pretend you could fly?"

Natasha picked up Ivan's hand where it lay on the counterpane. "You were always strong," she murmured.

"No need for strength; you were lighter than thistledown. A mere sparrow in my arms but always so serious – never shouting or laughing like other children."

"How would you know about other children?" Natasha teased, but her heart sank at the sight of her stepfather; his dear face was lined with pain, and he had never seemed so frail. Automatically she nodded as he recounted stories from their first hunt together, hiding her fears under a mask of complacency. In the middle of reenacting an adventure when they rescued a den of baby foxes from one marauding stoat he fell asleep with the immediacy of very ill patients.

Natasha sat back in the stiff chair and watched him slumber as his shallow breathing evened and softened on the pillow. He brought her to his home years before, shaking with fright and hiding a bruised face; her first hunt, first trap, and first kill – they had all happened at Ivan's side.

* * *

"I am ready to hire you for a job." The queen sat in her chamber idly swinging a fan from one hand; rain beat on the windowpanes outside. Natasha was drenched from her ride to the palace from the healers', and surreptitiously she wiped raindrops trickling down her neck.

One pink sleeve waved, and the maid hurried out of the room. The queen rose from her ornate, padded bench to go to the curtain Natasha noticed the first time in the huge room. She pulled a cord, and the tapestry swung back to reveal a huge mirror in a frame carved with words in an unknown alphabet; the symbols seemed to move in the light from the lanterns overhead. "You will dispatch an annoyance for me," Queen Lorelei declared.

Natasha bowed. "Of course, Majesty. Tell me the details, and I shall start at once. What pest would you like me to capture?"

Lorelei ignored the question. She approached the mirror, and her reflection within wavered; for a moment she looked like the jeweled, legless lizard Natasha had imagined the first time she saw the queen. The silver surface rippled, and Lorelei's image was replaced with a black and white shape that was familiar…

Natasha struggled to keep down her early breakfast of oatmeal as the picture resolved. It was Prince Loki, reflected in the mirror as clearly as though he stood in the room with them. He appeared to be in a different chamber, one lined with shelves of old books and paintings; a nearby window showed the rain falling outside. "There," Queen Lorelei said. "This is your new prey."

"I beg your pardon?" Natasha shook her head. "This is the prince."

The queen whirled and threw the fan so it struck a wall and fell in a clatter of useless ivory sticks and painted silk. "Of course it is the prince! Obviously no one hires you for your wits, dullard. You will dispatch him at once."

"Dispatch – do you mean capture? Did you want to …"

"No, I do not mean capture. I mean you will hunt him down, slit his throat, and cut his heart from his body." Lorelei slithered to the dressing table, retrieved a box, and opened it to reveal a velvet pillow inside. "You will bring me his heart in this casket when the deed is done to prove he no longer lives."

"Your Majesty…" Natasha sought to sound diplomatic. "I am a huntress, not a murderer. If there is a quarrel between the two of you, I am certain the king will help to smooth things over. Taking up the reins of a huge kingdom is exhausting …"

"Enough." Lorelei waved Natasha's words aside. "Your step-father, Ivan Petrovitch, lies several leagues hence with the healers. Obey my orders, or he will be turned out into the street and die there before you can reach his side."

A lump formed in Natasha's throat, and she blinked fiercely several times. With arms that seemed coated in lead, she held out her hand for the box and heard herself agree to the supreme treachery of killing Prince Loki.

* * *

"Before you ride, there is another who would see you." The speaker was a guard with gray hair and kind eyes; Natasha groaned inwardly.

"Are you Astrid?" she asked.

"The prince has spoken of me to you?" The guard smiled. "I have known him since he was a babe in arms. Others say he is very proud and strong-willed, but he has shown nothing save kindness to me and my family."

Unwillingly Natasha followed Astrid, and the box bumped awkwardly against her side. "I must return home," she began.

"Oh, no – Loki would be sorely put out if we let you leave without a few words." Astrid laughed softly and tapped on a panel set into the hall; it slid back and revealed the mellow room Natasha had just seen in the huge mirror. There were the paintings in tones of scarlet and old gold, the rain tapping against the window, the leather-bound books. Most prominent of all, there was the prince himself.

Loki raised his eyes from his volume as soon as Natasha was shown in; instantly he threw down the book and strode forward. "Huntress – I didn't know you were here." His pale skin was very white against the black velvet of his high collar; as always his head was tilted back and he seemed to look down at the guard and Natasha as from a great height. Still, there seemed something new in his glance – a shade of uncertainty, perhaps? Or was it her hidden knowledge he was her new quarry? If it came to that, she had to concentrate on hiding her own sadness and dismay.

"Now you can be happy again." Astrid prodded Natasha forward. "Jumpier than a cat on a damp blanket he's been – always asking if the huntress from Milkwood has been to call. Perhaps now I'll get a moment's peace!" Her rich chuckle followed her to the hall, cut off when the panel slid closed.

With a rueful grin, Loki indicated a cushioned seat. "My apologies. Astrid has known me all my life, and she thinks it gives her the right to treat me as a five-year-old."

"So she told me in the hall." Natasha put the box on a table, took the seat, and tried to quell the leap of blood to her cheeks when he sat next to her, so closely their thighs touched. "I hope all is well…"

He waved her words away. "I missed speaking with you further at the affair at Fandral's estate. Will you accept my apologies?"

She felt bewildered. "But the apologies are mine. In truth I thought I could last the entire evening, but great companies are not my forte. I'm afraid I scurried back to my forest like a rabbit in front of baying hounds."

Relief seemed to suffuse Loki's wide brow. "Did you indeed? Bravo – and might I add it was the most sensible thing anyone could have done in the face of such an onslaught. I only wish I had your sense, but of course I was compelled to stay. Lorelei forced me to be her escort," he added in a low tone.

"I see," Natasha replied, although she didn't. His lowered voice made him lean closer to her as though he wanted her to catch each word he said, and one long strand of black hair brushed against her cheek. Nerves flickered in her stomach, and she jumped out of the low settee to pace in front of the fire. "Perhaps you sought refuge in another way?"

"If you mean in my glass, the answer is Yes, to my shame. The following morning I awoke with no recollection of the previous night, and I have been afraid I was ill-mannered in your hearing."

"No need for shame." Natasha spoke automatically, her mind racing. The box Lorelei gave her was in the shadows of the snug library, but she felt it screamed _Look! Here is your future assassin!_

He sat in a low chair, stretched out long, leather-clad legs, and smiled up at her; the prince appeared to have regained the inner confidence she noticed the first time they met. Confidence? No, it was the wrong word – arrogance, rather, as though he was very sure of himself. Looking at Loki one could see life was his for the asking, and he commanded servants, riches, probably women as well at the lift of a finger.

Natasha pointed to the book he had put down and asked about it. Loki picked it up and began to talk with animation about the subject – some sort of treatise on herbs and medicinals. It gave her a chance to calm her nerves. _Was ever there a more awkward meeting?_ She had to converse with the man she was being forced to kill, hide the knowledge his life would be hers in a few days. Her hunter's instincts ticked into gear, and she envisioned a precise plan to get him alone. He would follow with eagerness; she was now certain of it. Once away from the palace she would distract his attention and slit the white throat above the stiff velvet collar – she could see the very spot as he spoke, where the blood pumped under skin and muscle. When she delivered the masterstroke, his warm blood would cascade over her hands and she would be the last thing he would ever see in his short lifespan. She would have to watch the warmth in his gaze turn to shocked awareness that she had betrayed him just like everyone else.

"I beg your pardon." Natasha couldn't bear to be in the room with the prince any longer. "I must return to the forest."

"But I wanted to give you more books first!" Loki stood and indicated a slanted pile threatening to cascade onto the thick carpet. "These are the ones I picked out for you – they are not well-known, but I loved them when I was growing up. The top volume kept me awake for night's on end, reading chapter after chapter. It was so exciting I just couldn't stop."

"Your Highness is too kind." Blindly Natasha felt for the dreadful box and stumbled to the panel, feeling for the lever that opened it.

He followed her at once and indicated a button; the action brought him very close behind her. _Yes, I can get him alone without any trouble at all,_ Natasha thought. _This will be a very easy chase indeed._

"What is the purpose of the box?"

She stifled her startled jump at the question, and the plan crystallized. Best to do it now before she had to listen to his low voice discussing his book with such intensity, or look into those green eyes once more. Any more intimacy between them would undo her completely.

"It is a trap," she replied.

"Ah, for the queen's little job. Tell me, what is it?" Once more he bent closer, and Natasha was compelled to look into that steady gaze.

"There is a white marmot in the woods." She cleared her throat; her voice was becoming husky. "A very sly creature – it has evaded all manner of arrows. The queen wishes its pelt for her cloak, and so I must set up an elaborate ruse among the trees." Natasha knew if she didn't speak quickly she would ride off to leave the palace forever, and Ivan would be lost. "Would you like to come and see the chase?"

"A marmot - _this_ is the grand quest?" Loki laughed, a relieved sound edged with joy. "Yes, I would dearly love to see you at work, huntress. When shall it be done?"

"When Your Highness has a free moment."

"Oh, stop using that ridiculous phrase. We are Loki and Natasha to each other now and forever." His gaze dipped to the hollow of her throat, and her heart sped up; a quirk of his lips told her he measured her racing blood and delighted in it. "This time tomorrow? And I will bring the story for you."

"This time tomorrow." Natasha dipped her head, waited for him to press the little button, and walked away quickly so she wouldn't be tempted to look back at the prince as he watched her leave.

Because.

Because.

Because in the final moment with him she _knew_ her own mind and soul, more clearly than ever before.

Because.

Because the Queen had hired Natasha to slaughter the man she now wished to protect above all others.


	6. Casket and Dagger

**6. Casket and Dagger**

* * *

"You never related to me the story of how you slew the Draugr." Loki tilted his head up towards Natasha so he could catch each word of her reply. Around them the trees stretched to the sky dotted with puffed clouds blown by the spring winds.

She crouched and polished her dagger on one thigh. "Draugar are incredibly difficult to kill. I had to wheedle and cajole in her own language first, of course." Natasha held up the blade, squinted, and smoothed her sleeve over the hilt before she handed it to Loki. "Here you are – let's see you cast. I'll take you down the hill to where a nest of rabbits are, and you can attempt to win me my dinner."

Her footsteps were sure and silent, but Loki thought something about the huntress had changed. Natasha's neck bent as though she carried a heavy burden; perhaps she thought of her stepfather and his illness, or maybe the privations of her craft forced responsibilities larger than she could handle, deft though she was. "Natasha," he whispered.

One foot on a moss-covered rock, she froze. "Yes?"

_It is certain she has something on her mind._ "Is all well? You seem sad somehow, as if a shade covers your usual brightness. It is difficult to discern, but I can sense something prowls among your thoughts."

"'Prowls among my thoughts.'" Natasha turned to face him with her usual grin. "Certainly a fine way of putting it! You have the touch of a poet about you, Your Highness."

Loki growled. "I told you not to call me Your Highness any longer." Heedless of the rabbits, he nudged her and pretended to lunge at her with the dagger she gave him; instantly she shot off, her mocking laughter trailing behind. Loki grinned, thrust the knife in his belt, and went in pursuit. He was determined to catch her among the trees – the clever, wild thing she was!

Her steps led them to a small meadow, a tiny ring of violets and toadflax where the rays of the sun broke through the trees like light piercing the depths of the ocean. Loki pounced and caught her wrists, and he bound her against his chest; he could feel her laughter as though it came from his own lungs. "You have chased away my dinner, sir," she chided. "I deserve compensation for the hunger I shall suffer as a result."

"Certainly." Loki let her go, spread wide his arms, and tilted up his chin. "What duty must I perform in consequence?"

A shade seemed to swim across her vision, so swiftly he couldn't be sure he had seen it. "Kneel and profess eternal loyalty to me," Natasha ordered.

At once Loki dropped to his knees. "Most esteemed maiden, you hold my eternal troth. What wouldst thou do with it, pray?"

She stepped forward, and her voice became husky. "I would have a lock of your hair, varlet, as tribute for your crimes. Bow your head – oh, and give me the dagger in your belt."

Loki chuckled, reached for the knife and held it out; his eyes squinted against the afternoon sun. "Receive my blade, mistress, and may you find pity in your heart for this hardened criminal." He bowed, a smile on his lips, and waited for her to approach. Around them the woods were alive with birdsong. Above the pounding of his heart – for a kiss would come very soon, Loki was sure of it – he considered how she always seemed to bring life and color with her. When he walked with Natasha, it was as though the world hurtled a bit faster in orbit, and the very stones seemed to speak…

Natasha screamed.

The cry was so painful, so bitter and filled with anguish, Loki started. For a moment he thought she had been wounded, or – dreadful thought – she had slammed the wicked dagger into her own heart. The shout was followed by a thunk as the knife landed to quiver in the trunk of a tree across the tiny, sunlit clearing.

Jumping to his feet, Loki looked wildly around. "Such a cry! It nearly tore my heart from my chest… What happened to make you … Natasha!"

For she had sunk onto the grass, her fists in her eyes, rocking back and forth like a child who could not contain her misery. "I cannot," she said in a dreadful, heartbroken voice. "I simply cannot."

The knife still quivered in the tree. Loki strode forward, knelt beside her, and looked into the darkness of the forest. "There is no white marmot, is there," he said. It wasn't a question at all – in that moment he knew _exactly_ why Lorelei had hired Natasha.

The huntress jumped away from him, strode to a bush, and rummaged inside the green and yellow leaves. She returned with a wooden casket in her hands, and he recognized it at once. "It is for your heart," Natasha said in a low voice. "I was hired to cut it from your chest and place it in this box before I brought it to her."

His face contorted; ice poured through his veins. Loki stood and turned away, no longer able to look at her. "I am sorry," he murmured.

"I beg your pardon?"

"For thinking you might actually harbor a fondness for me. What an idiot I was!" A crack of ironic laughter erupted from Loki's mouth, and a startled bird flew off into the underbrush. "You must have been quite amused by my stupidity. Therefore, my apologies, huntress." She didn't reply, just stared back with clear eyes blown huge with sorrow, the box still in her arms. He shook his head and prepared to march back to his horse, to ride away from Milkwood and never return. If he were very lucky, he would never see Natasha again.

"Where are you going?"

"To the devil!" It was melodramatic, he knew, but Loki's heart ached with – what, he wasn't sure.

"To the palace?" Somehow she had caught up with him.

"Who gives a damn?" He wrested his arm from her grasp with one savage gesture.

"She watches you," Natasha called. "In her mirror."

That made him stop and wheel to face her. "What?"

"There is a mirror in her room. She showed me. Queen Lorelei watches you – she can probably see what we do right now."

Loki panted with anger, and he shook his head. "So she has dark magic! I should have known. Well, huntress, it looks as though both our livers are fried. I know what_ I _shall do with my final moments – find the nearest wench and spend several hours between her legs. Good day to you."

"She can't hear us!" Natasha shouted again, just as he reached his horse. "The Queen has no idea what we say to each other!"

Once more he paused. "What do you mean by that?"

Her footsteps hurried behind him, and she said in a low voice, "There is an animal in the forest – a bonobo. Its heart is about the same size as a man's and the same shape. I can slaughter one and deliver the casket to the queen as she ordered."

Fury made the breath whistle in his throat. Loki seized her arms and shook her – the tiny huntress, so soft and deadly. "Why?" he shouted. "Why did you spoil it? We were good together!"

"She threatened my stepfather if I did not obey." Natasha's face grew pale. "The queen said she would have him tossed out of the healers' house into the streets, and he would die there. He saved me, you see, when my parents died. I was sent to live with an uncle – my father's brother - and his sons used to enjoy tying me down and having their way with me. Ivan Petrovitch saved me from that degradation. Believe me, there is no other in Asgard for whom I would trade _my_ reputation - or _your_ heart."

Loki felt his eyes grow wide and wet. A shudder ran through her frame, and he burned with sympathy, fury, sorrow, all at once. "A bonobo, you say."

"Indeed. They are shy and difficult to find, but I can do it. Tonight I will ride to the palace with the casket, if you agree."

"Agree to what?" Loki asked cautiously.

"We need to stage your death, and do so with utmost caution. The queen will be watching."

* * *

Loki lay on his back in the clearing. Natasha untied his jerkin and spread it open before smoothing his skin with both hands. Under her touch he couldn't prevent his stomach rippling as though her fingers spread fire and blood, both at once. Natasha seemed not to notice. "I'll bring the blade down here," she said, and pointed to one rib. "You must arch up with the blow and bellow with pain while I pretend to cut out the organ; once I am done you must lie still and not move. Do you understand?"

He nodded. "And the blood?"

"I have it ready, here in this bladder. You must bite down and spray it from your mouth as I cut. There is another beneath you to spread out as though you lie in your own gore."

"Can you make it look real?"

Her eyebrows drew together with impatience. "I am the finest hunter in Asgard – of course I can. Now, I want to ride to the palace and return before midnight. Are you ready?"

Loki nodded again. Her arm flashed up and down in a shining arc; for a moment he thought she actually had killed him. At the last instant he remembered to snap the bladder in his mouth; its blood shot out over his tongue, between his teeth, to arc up into the air over his neck. "Urgh," he mumbled.

Natasha paid no attention. She mimed a series of gristly cuts to his chest, lifted up the dripping heart she had prepared, and placed it carefully into the casket. Once the box was closed over the horrific contents, she leaned close so their lips nearly touched. "You must not move," she breathed. "I will ride to the palace, and the queen must see you as a corpse. When I return I will affect your escape, but until then you must be still. And if I do not return by sunrise tomorrow, ride off as far and fast as you can to find an army and accuse the Queen of treachery against the crown."

His eyelashes fluttered in response, and Natasha stood. She lifted the box carefully; he heard the grass swish under her boots.

Silence. She was gone.

* * *

A pale sliver of moon rose in the sky. Loki watched it wheel above him and thought about life and death. Perhaps it would have been better if Natasha had dispatched him after all; the memory of his accusing shouts against the huntress returned to him, and he nearly shifted with discomfort. Always his hasty temper and impatient nature forced him to accuse those who were worthy, and as a final twist of ironic fate he ended up in the bed of the foulest being in the kingdom.

Only the thought of what the queen would do to the huntress if they were discovered kept him still.

_His sons used to enjoy tying me down and having their way with me._ If he got out of his current mess, Loki would hunt those men down and kill them himself, cut off their hands so they could never inflict their lust upon little girls again. It seemed innocence and joy was always preyed on by evil; the many times he and Natasha had been interrupted by Lorelei crossed his mind. At Fandral's estate, in the library, and that very day in the clearing…

If the queen had not hired the huntress to kill him, Natasha would have submitted to the steadily growing attraction between them; Loki knew it with every nerve, each hair on his head. He would have kissed her there among the violets and toadflax in a prolonged embrace, and after they lay together in the meadow she would catch a rabbit for their dinner. They would read the story he had brought by her fire, and when she grew sleepy he would hold her close, belly and hips pressed together in the bed of her little house.

Such bright possibilities, all stolen by a queen's ambition.

Loki tried to ignore his pains. The blood in his mouth tasted like iron, and several beetles seemed to be intent on pushing its way into his hair; nearby a hiss sounded as though some reptile slithered through the moss. He longed to fling the insects off, march to the nearest stream, and rinse off the day's privations in an extended bath.

Steeling himself, Loki watched the fingernail moon and waited for Natasha's return…

_If _she returned at all.


	7. Blood Bargain

**7. Blood Bargain**

* * *

"What happened in the forest?" Queen Lorelei sat with her hands on the casket, stroking the woods and inlaid ivory of its lid. "I saw you shout with rage and throw your knife into a tree before you argued with the prince. Tell me exactly what occurred."

"I wanted to gain his complete trust, Your Majesty. Loki is a very intelligent man." Natasha made her face grow somewhat witless; the queen seemed to enjoy looking at her as an underling and indeed it suited the huntress's purpose to have it so.

"Yes, he is." For one moment Lorelei's eyes flickered with sadness. "He was foolish in his choice, however – did you know he watched you from the pillars when you danced with Prince Thor at Fandral's party?"

Natasha kept her face smooth. "Yet you alone hold his heart now, Majesty."

"Ah." The Queen rose, wafted to the mirror, and drew back the cord. Natasha caught her breath as the image of the little clearing where she had assassinated the prince came into focus; in the deepening night Loki's body was motionless. Blood coursed from his mouth and chest, and a wide pool of gore surrounded his far-flung cloak. "You should have loved me!" Lorelei shouted suddenly into the mirror. "We could have ruled together!"

Certainly the elegant beauty had forgotten who stood behind her. Lorelei gazed at Loki, panting with anger, and her hands clenched, white-knuckled, on the box with the heart inside. Natasha willed her own breath to still and waited. A tiny clock wrought with gold and jewels on the wide mantel chimed with a lilting melody; outside a pack of dogs bayed and were answered by one of the falcons eager on the mews block-perch to spread its covert and fly over hills and rabbit runs.

"I shan't pay you," Lorelei remarked in a tone as light and untroubled as though she and Natasha gossiped together within a party assembly. "'Twas a messy affair, and you were lucky to bring it off. Indeed, it is difficult to believe you ever slew any beast at all, let alone a draugr."

Cold anger filled Natasha, as if a waygate had lifted and the course of a river redirected into her veins. "Very well," she responded smoothly. "I trust I shall not talk in my sleep of what has happened here at the palace. Good day, Your Majesty." She wheeled on the heel of her boot and prepared to leave.

"Stop. Talk in your sleep – what do you mean?" Somehow Lorelei was right behind her.

"Why, the life of a huntress is an exciting one, and sometimes I chase my prey into my dreams. Should I take a lover, he might hear something unexpected among my pillows."

_That should give her something to chew on!_ Natasha opened the door, but one delicate hand slammed it shut again, just as the huntress had planned. "What do you want?" Lorelei hissed in her ear. "Gold? Jewels? Land? Riches? A wealthy husband – Fandral, perhaps?"

Natasha turned, and with a shred of pity for one who valued such things as payment, she shook her head. "I would simply secure the safety of Ivan Petrovitch."

The Queen backed away. "Done," she said instantly. "But if one whisper of this comes to my ears – and they are everywhere, huntress – he will die in agony. And you as well, but I suppose this goes without saying."

"It does." Natasha allowed the witless expression to return to her face. "But to give up Fandral himself as a husband – 'tis a pity! Ah, well." She shook her head as though she measured her own stupidity, bowed, and with a surge of relief left the Queen's chambers.

* * *

Under the thumbnail moon Natasha rode to the healers and broke into the silent building. The patients and nursemaids slept; only one guard stood in the hall under a guttering lamp. She tried to distract the man's attention with a pebble thrown onto the window ledge, but he did not move – the man slept where he stood, ready to fall on the stones. Probably he had a flask tucked under his shirt, now empty.

Natasha stole to the room where medicinals and instruments were kept. She ignored the cut-glass bottles of red, emerald, bright yellow liquids and found a bucket filled with foul waste from the day's labors prepared for the dung heap. Holding her nose, Natasha took out a bag from her pack, poured the slimed contents into it, and tied it up quickly before leaving.

The guard never stirred as she closed the gate behind her.

* * *

"Loki."

He lay in the grass where she had left him, so pale and unmoving for one moment she thought he had truly been slaughtered by one of the many beasts in the forest. Natasha checked a sob in her throat; it had been a dreadful day filled with turns of emotion beyond endurance.

His black lashes fluttered, and one eye opened. The prince prepared to sit up, but quickly Natasha pressed one hand to his chest. "The queen still watches us," she murmured, "and she must see me bury you." One corner of her mouth quirked, and she added, "Would you like to meet your own grave?"

Humor glinted in his eyes. "Very much."

Natasha nodded. Experience with the hunt taught her to lift limp bodies heavier than she was; quickly she removed his cloak, hoisted the prince over one shoulder and carried him into the cover of the woods. There she had a long hole prepared. Natasha slung him into it, lifted a wooden spade, and muttered, "When I give you the word, jump out into the bushes. You must be quick."

She allowed a long flurry of earth to fall into the grave. "Now!"

Loki bounded out, and she shook out his cloak to cover the action. The velvet fell among the stones, and she quickly added the dreadful bag from the healers. It fell with a horrible, liquid thump in the grave; as she prepared to fill in the hole, Natasha caught a smell of something wrong – a whiff of dark and poisonous perfume. Fear for Ivan, Loki, and herself filled her heart, and she nearly jumped into the grave to examine the entrails she had just buried there. What secret did the foul bag hold?

Loki shifted in his covering bush, and Natasha shook her head. She had no time to start an investigation into the healers and their medicines. With hurried, desperate strokes she filled in the hole dark as a starving mouth. Although her muscles were honed from long hours in the saddle, Natasha cramped quickly as she worked; hunger tore through her belly; still the smells from the dreadful bag haunted her nostrils.

At last the mock burial was completed. Natasha struck the shovel into the makeshift grave and felt as though she had actually performed an assassination.

* * *

"Why the bag?" Loki sat by Natasha's hearth in nothing more than breeches; he had insisted on casting the gore-covered shirt into her fire.

"It played its part as your corpse. The queen wants to watch you in her mirror, and now I have given the bitch a body in a grave for her entertainment. The sight will distract her for a few days." With simmering violence Natasha hacked off thick slices of bread and spread them with lard. "Eat this – it is simple fare, but I'll wager your belly feels as empty as mine."

Loki tore into the bread with his white teeth, chewed, and chased it down with a long measure of wine. "And in your opinion, will she now rest?"

"The only certain thing is you are not safe here. Several days hence I will bring you to Ivan's old hunting lodge – it is a ruin of stones covered with ivy, but everyone has forgotten it exists. Thank the gods there will be no moon! Once you have a safe place to stay I will return to the palace to raise help. I thought your brother could dispatch some guards on our behalf, or perhaps the woman Astrid could inform him under orders of strict secrecy."

He let the half-eaten piece of bread fall into his plate. "Of course!" Loki jumped up and secured her hands in his. "It is the very thing – once Odin knows of Lorelei's treachery he will place her in the dungeons, if not hew her head from her body. She will be gone from the palace and my mother's place at last… Huntress, you are intelligent beyond my imagining. Your mind is like a supple horse, galloping faster than any soldier could run."

Natasha pressed him back into his seat. "There is much to do, and many things could go wrong. Let us save the celebrations for when you are back in Frigga's library, a volume on your knee and heir to the throne once more. Tonight you will sleep in my bed, and I will keep watch in the trees. When the sun rises I will steal a few hours of slumber, for we must be prepared and nimble when the time comes."

She rose; hastily he asked, "Where are you going?"

"I must wash off the day's blood."

"I want to bathe as well." His eyes glinted with determination.

Natasha nodded. "There is no warmed water here, prince – we must soak in the cold stream and be thankful for it."

"I need no heated bath."

Cautiously they stole out of the hut and crept through the shadows, and with a slight shock Natasha realized how well they moved together – in tandem, as though they both instinctively knew the way the other would step. "All I ask is a chance to rid myself of the creature's fluids in my ears and neck. Indeed, I itch with the disgusting slime I have lain in all day." Loki spoke with distaste; probably he had never experienced such dirt in his life before.

"Here is the stream." Natasha stripped quickly and walked into the water; it skirled over her knees and sex in cold, clean luxury. "Ahh," she couldn't help adding. "This was a day of blood and earth, even for a huntress."

A slight splash told her Loki had entered the water behind her. He lay back in the water and looked up at the stars, already hiding their bright faces in the promise of dawn. "It is as though I float in the heavens themselves," he murmured.

"I thought the same thing a few nights ago." Natasha tipped her head back and let the bubbling rapids wash through her hair; she froze when he splashed through the water and his strong fingers folded over her shoulder. "Don't touch me," she added.

Loki snatched his hand away. "Why?" he demanded. "Am I so loathsome? Do I make your flesh crawl?"

"On the contrary, I am the villain. Today I had every intention of betraying and murdering you." Natasha splashed more water on her neck, her shoulders, her belly, and scrubbed as if she could wash away that terrible intention.

"But you did not," Loki murmured in her ear. "You saved me, and my belief is you saved your step-father at the same time. Did you not? Am I right?" She nodded, and he dipped suddenly under the water. When he emerged, dripping, Loki climbed out of the stream and stood deliberately with both fists on his hips. He looked down at her with the arrogant lift of his head Natasha had come to associate with the prince; she could see every inch of him. It was difficult to restrain her gasp at his beauty – the strong thighs, the broad shoulders, the dark mystery between his legs. "I have met many brave men, huntress," he said, "but none braver than you were today."

Loki snatched his breeches up from the ground, pulled them on with swift, savage movements, and strode into the woods.

Natasha was left alone to shiver in a stream filled with stars.


	8. Heart of Darkness

**8. Heart of Darkness**

* * *

At midday Natasha went inside for a crust of bread and a few hours of sleep. Her skull throbbed with weariness while her heart ached with fear for Ivan. She had done what she could in the woods; after she rested she wanted to put a second phase of her plan into action. It would require stealth and a lot of persuasion…

"Do you expect me to stay inside this cupboard all day?" Loki interrupted her thoughts with a contemptuous look around her rooms, such as they were.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did the servants neglect to regale you with the lute and bring the proper jewels to Your Highness this morning?" Natasha flashed. "My dwelling comes with very few amenities: water, food, and the chance to keep your heart inside your own chest." Her legs would support her no longer after the watch and several rides she had taken that morning, and she collapsed into a chair.

The prince sat in the seat opposite hers. He regarded his knees for some time; at last he said in a very stiff tone, "I did not mean to say…"

"Just cut me off a piece of the loaf and make sure I don't fall asleep while I eat."

Loki didn't raise his eyes. "There is no more bread. I ate it all this morning."

Natasha spat out a rude word, rose, and dragged her way to the small bed. "Keep your eyes on the windows and your ears ready," she called. "But stay out of sight at the same time."

"How can I manage to do that?"

Before she could answer him, a velvet black hood of sleep descended over her.

* * *

Natasha awoke to a smell of burning. She shot out of bed to find Loki with a small bowl in his hands, holding it out to her. "I made porridge," he said with some degree of pride.

"Oh." She took the bowl to her table, spooned it up, and put the stuff in her mouth; it tasted like scorched sheets with the addition of pebbled grit.

Natasha had spent most of her life with Ivan in the woods or on her own, and as a result finer points of etiquette were beyond her. She was about to spit the porridge out and shout at him for wasting good oats when she caught sight of Loki's face; he beamed with pride in his creation. With the utmost effort, she swallowed her insults as well as the slop and nodded. "Mmf. Thank you." Her attempt earned her a bright smile and a relieved sigh.

"I did not mean to eat all the bread. My life in the palace did not prepare me for…"

"Reality." Natasha nodded with understanding. "It didn't prepare you for true life. I will try to return you to your hermit's library just as soon as I can, but we will have to learn to deal with each other in the meantime." She held her breath and shoveled the rest of the bowl into her mouth. "Now, I need to ride to the edge of the forest. When I return, I'll prepare to move you to Ivan's hunting lodge – it will give you more freedom to move around."

"Why must you go?"

"To be honest, I have to get more supplies as I'm feeding two of us now. Plus I hoped to contact Thor or Astrid, and I would sleep more easily if Ivan were in my care and far from the palace. It will be tricky, but if I can hire a cart I could bring him to the lodge at the same time when I take you there."

He nodded, and a rueful grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I know I am not the easiest guest, Natasha."

* * *

Milkwood curled around the palace walls and the trees overlapped the ancient stones in several places. Natasha rode to one such place she had marked earlier; there she jumped off her horse and climbed over the wall. If anyone found her she could be hanged for treachery and her second attempt at outright villainy. _I never wanted a life of crime, but it seems it has been forced upon me, _she mused. Perhaps she could give up hunting for meat or furs and waylay rich countesses as a highwayman instead – steal their jewels and feed the poor.

Those plans evaporated when she caught sight of a guard under a willow, adjusting his armor after a piss in the bushes. Natasha waited until all was tucked away before she hissed at him. "Ho there! Do you know Astrid?"

He turned to face her in surprise, an honest fellow with a farmer's brown skin. Before he could raise an alarm, Natasha removed a small bag from her shirt and tossed it to him – the last of her coins. "I promise I am not here for any evildoing," she added.

He caught the bag, weighed it, and nodded before disappearing. Natasha knew it was a gamble; he could do as she requested or reappear with the queen's sentinels in tow and her neck would be in the noose. And what would happen to Loki in that case? How long would it take him to starve if she never returned?

_Frigga, just grant me the chance to save him,_ she breathed. _I do not ask for success_ _– I will achieve it on my own merits._

Maybe the former queen heard the silent prayer. After several agonized minutes, the guard returned with Astrid; her gray hair pushed up on one side and query in her face. "Why, 'tis the hunting wench!" Astrid's face twisted with sorrow. "Alas, what sad times we live in. First Queen Frigga, and now my prince…"

Natasha waved her forward and whispered, "We have a lot to talk about."

* * *

"The new queen did all of this?" Astrid's honest eyes were filled with astonishment.

"You could ride with me now, find Loki in my house, and ask him to confirm the entire story."

The guardswoman pressed her hand against her chest. "The prince is still alive! That bugger – begging your pardon. He is slippery as a fish – when the queen announced his death it seemed wrong to waste time on grief. I should have known he's far too stubborn to be offed at the will of a mere slut. Sorry – the queen."

Natasha crossed her arms and laughed; she decided she liked the guardswoman. "I need some items. Can you procure them for me?"

"Books, I suppose."

"Of course Loki would like those, but they are last on my list. Gold would help, if you have any recourse to it – food too, and wine. Clothes for the prince, the plainer the better. And I need to talk to his brother."

"Done. All will be prepared by tomorrow." Astrid leaned close and gave Natasha a smacking kiss on the cheek redolent with beer and sausages. "That is for the prince – be certain you pass it along, mind."

* * *

On the way home Natasha slaughtered a few mallards for their dinner; some wild onions and parsley would make the meat more palatable. She arrived at the cottage to find Loki tearing his hair out with boredom. "This will kill me," he groaned. "I almost think you should have ripped my heart out when we had the chance."

She thrust one mallard under his nose. "No worries – behold, we can play the game of pluck and gut. He who leaves the most feathers is the loser."

The prince received the limp bird with a look of astonished disdain. "I certainly won't be eating this!"

"More for me, then." Lack of sleep and bread made Natasha cantankerous. She seated herself on a stool, drew up a bucket, and began to strip her fowl of its feathers.

After a long moment he joined her, complaining the barbs were too sharp. "And do we really have to gut the thing?"

"The 'thing' will taste like shit if we do not, begging Your Highness's pardon. And when I say shit, I mean it literally. These flying rats are filled with dung."

"I told you to call me Loki."

"I will when you stop your complaints."

Loki muttered, but he continued to strip the feathers away. When Natasha declared herself the winner, he had recovered his spirit enough to argue his bird was the cleaner of the two. "But what of these little picky barbs?" he asked, pointing to the neck.

"I'll candle those." Natasha held up a brand, lit it in the fire, and singed off the last of the pinfeathers; he looked proud of his work and started to boast. In order to shut him up Natasha plunged her hand inside her bird and pulled out a handful of innards; Loki exclaimed, made a quick excuse, and left the room with one hand over his mouth.

* * *

Once the meat was roasted, Natasha poured the last of her wine into two glasses and raised one to Loki. Gravely he touched it with his. "To your return," she said. "If all goes well, it should be soon."

His eyes gleamed. "No more plucking for me."

She laughed. "No, indeed. But tell me – what do you think of your labors?"

Cautiously Loki picked up a wing and bit into it with fine, white teeth. "Not terrible," he said in a surprised tone.

"And you did it yourself!" She toasted him again, winked, and drank more wine.

"_And_ I made porridge, if you recall."

"Prince, if you value our friendship, never do so again."

Loki winked. "That bad?"

"I never knew it was possible to ruin good oats, but today you have proved me wrong."

He laughed, a mellow sound with the fire crackling behind them. "Huntress, you continue to win my ire as well as my respect."

Natasha leaned closer. "I think we are on the way to returning you to your rightful place. I spoke with Astrid today, and she will bring me supplies anon, as well as a chance to speak with your brother. As long as the first guard I approached holds his tongue, all will be well."

"He will." Loki finished the last of his meal. "The guards are all faithful to Astrid – in a sense she raised them."

"Thank the gods." Natasha leaned back, relieved. "It was my last worry. If he stays true, we are in the clear and you will be selecting a new tale to read before Midsummer."

"And what of you?" Loki raised his glass to her and drank. "What will happen to my savior with hair the color of late sunset when I return to the Palace?"

With a rush Natasha remembered their isolation, sitting in her little house far from the rest of civilization. "I shall continue my work and rid you of any other dragons or witches who appear, should you ever need me." Hastily she rose and carried her dish and glass to the bucket. "And now I must scout out the woods to make certain all is safe. Get some sleep, prince."

* * *

As the moonlight filtered through branches tossed by a light wind, Natasha prowled to the stream's edge and marked the sounds of the night – an owl on the hunt for dozing wood mice, a fox returning to its den, whispers from the nearby stream. She sat, leaned against a mossy tree stump, and prepared to watch until dawn.

Exhaustion peppered the edges of her vision with visions. In a half-dream she saw Queen Lorelei pace on a turreted courtyard as she wiped tears off her pale cheeks; when King Odin approached her with a lantern she waved him away. Odin seemed to sigh before he turned and left her alone, an old king bent under the weight of palace politics and a loveless marriage.

_Lorelei's eyes narrowed as she watched him go; there was ambition in her glance, some evil intent…_

Natasha jerked upright out of the dream and stifled her shocked exclamation. Danger was afoot – her hunter's instincts told her so clearly. She rose and, silent as a shadow, slipped through the trees to her little house; as she went Natasha prayed she would not be too late. The queen was on the move in Asgard, and Loki lay helpless as a kitten in Natasha's bed. What would Lorelei do to him if she discovered the prince still lived? Tie him up in his own entrails and drip poison into his eyes? Starve him in a dungeon? Or simply slit his throat and cut out his heart, just as Natasha herself had planned? She should never have left him alone.

Head buzzing with those dreadful fears as she neared her cottage, Natasha ran full-tilt into something warm, firm, alive. One large hand covered her mouth before she could shout for help, and a voice hissed in her ear, "No need to scream, huntress - it is me."

_Loki – he is alive._ With a smothered sob Natasha cast her arms around his neck and clung to him. "I simply had to return to you. The pictures in my head – I could no longer…I was afraid…"

He murmured his surprise and drew her close, bent his dark head over hers. "And do you have feelings after all, little one? For it was the same on my part. I dreamed something dreadful arose in the dark and swallowed you whole, and I thought my heart would break."

"Your heart." Natasha laughed, a mad combination of fear and soaring happiness; was she losing her mind? Carefully she spread her fingers over his chest and felt the steady thump of his life quicken through his veins.

Loki caught her laughter and returned it; she could see his bright smile. "Still it beats," he mocked.

"Yes."

His smile disappeared, and Loki bent to whisper words so soft that they fell like seeds from a dandelion clock. "It beats for _you,_ huntress."

* * *

**_NOTE - I actually plucked and gutted ducks when I was growing up on our farm, and I can attest pinfeathers truly suck. _**


	9. The Tree House

**9 The Tree House**

* * *

Loki meant to trail his lips up Natasha's throat, but he had no chance. His eyes bulged as the huntress whispered in a broken voice, "I should have taken my dagger and struck Queen Lorelei right there among her silks and jewels when she ordered me to kill you. I should never, ever have considered…"

"Hush, now." His hands spanned her face; he tilted it up and kissed her with great passion and longing. Her tongue tasted of warm female, her breath of the mint tea she brewed for them after their simple supper.

Natasha jerked away from him. "No. Not here. Follow me – I'll show you something. A secret." She twisted out of his embrace and disappeared through the trees; Loki cursed and scrambled to catch up with her while staying as quiet as possible. He caught her at the foot of a tree and meant to steal more kisses, fraught with excitement and danger. To his surprise she shinned up the tree and disappeared into the branches. Under his probing fingertips he felt notches cut into the great trunk; with another spool of curses Loki reached up and managed to haul himself into the leaves.

"Oh!" He stopped, entranced. Natasha was on a wooden platform, surrounded by three walls. She held out an arm, and he grasped it to stagger into the tiny place. "What is this?"

"Shh. Ivan built it for me when I was a child. I still keep it swept and clean, although the squirrels pirate the place when I'm busy with a long hunt." Her red curls glowed in the dark as she opened a box, removed a bag, and took out several cushions and a thick blanket.

Loki didn't let her arrange them on the floor; he swept her into his arms and backed her against one of the supports to capture her mouth under his. "Lovely, you are so lovely," he murmured. "I wanted to have you the first time I met you, and yet you continually ran from me as though I were the hunter and you the prey. Why was that?"

Natasha kissed him back, a long swirl of delicious and shared breath; the sensation made him impossibly hard. "Because I _am_ a hunter. You need a princess or a duchess at the very least…"

"One of those goggling, giggling copies at the palace? No thank you." Loki sank onto the pillows and pulled her to sit next to him. "If you love me, do not abandon me to females who think of nothing but gossip and gowns all day and night!"

He chuckled as he sensed her frown; already he was entranced by each mood flitting through the compact creature that was his Natasha. "I don't know about love…" she started.

"But you do." Loki spoke with great firmness. "You love me – I know this. And we will make love, here and now, in this little boat you've prepared for us among the trees."

Her only response was a long sigh of surrender; he whimpered as her fingers thrust into his curls and she bit his neck. An answering whimper told him he was right, that she wanted him just as fiercely as he wanted her sensual little body, and together they tumbled onto the tossed cushions, the crumpled blanket. "I'll never be able to …" Natasha started.

"I don't care. Just this once nothing matters except here, and now, and you, and your lips, and oh Natasha." Loki rolled on top of her and started to undo her mannish shirt. The material was so old the buttons slipped through easily, and he was able to smooth one hand over the skin of her belly – so soft and hard it was at once – the softest skin ever, burning his fingertips like coals in the hearth, and hard with muscle underneath. In the sliver of moon he could just make out her face, intent on him. "You are beautiful," he whispered. "Beautiful."

"Here and now," Natasha repeated. "But you don't understand. I have a secret..." She stopped and listened, her body taut with awareness. "Loki," she hissed. "Listen!"

He paused and heard the night sounds of the forest. They were starting to become familiar, a random melody of hushed voices singing each other to sleep among the tossing branches: owls, larks, a nightingale. That fantasy disappeared when one voice bellowed, "Huntress Romanov!"

"For fuck's sake," Loki cursed. "Thor! Of all people! And of all nights – the clumsy fool couldn't have chosen any better." He prepared to climb down, but Natasha stopped him, doing up her shirt with rapid fingers.

"Let me. I'll prepare him and tell the prince to keep his voice down. Once I discover what has happened in the palace I'll call for you."

"I am not an infant to be suckled at your breast," Loki complained, but already she had shot down the makeshift ladder. A moment later he heard her hiss for Thor and his brother's answering shout, followed by a series of warning whispers. The two dark shapes grew closer together; a long discussion appeared to follow with grunts of surprise on the part of his brother and calm reassurances from Natasha.

He had just lost his temper and prepared to leap off the tree house platform between the two and separate them (why was the oaf standing so close to her in any case?) when Thor himself appeared on the little ledge. "Loki!" Thor erupted in a strangled shout and swept him into a mighty hug. "The entire palace thought you were dead – the queen said it was a hunting accident and blamed the huntress's clumsiness for it. I thought it all seemed strange, but you were nowhere to be found and I had to believe what Lorelei said. The past few days have been the most tragic time of my existence."

"You'll bring Natasha's tree house down on our heads, you fool!" Loki disentangled himself. "Did you just say the queen blamed her? By our lady, Thor! The truth is quite to the contrary. It was Lorelei's fault all along, and the huntress was my savior."

Natasha avoided Loki's embrace just as neatly as he had evaded Thor. "Seeing the queen has accused me of being at fault in your death, she will not hesitate to send out the sheriff or guards loyal to her cause. We must move out _now_ before I am arrested and Ivan is lost."

Thor swept back his hair. "What can I do to help you?" he asked quietly.

"Cut the serpent's body into pieces and boil her in oil!" Loki gritted his teeth. "She has befouled every aspect of my life, and I will not have her touch one hair of your head, Natasha."

"We cannot hack apart the queen just yet," Thor argued.

"Why not? Denounce her to our father and have her hanged for treachery. It is the simplest solution, and Ivan Petrovitch can stay where he is." Loki drummed his fingers on his thigh. "Will the king bless our marriage, do you think?"

"We can't denounce anyone," Natasha repeated. "Tell him, Thor."

Loki felt a cold shaft of fear as Thor swiped his face quickly into his elbow. "Loki, our Father no longer lives. He was discovered in his bed yesterday morning, cold and stiff. The healers said he died in his sleep, and Lorelei now rules Asgard."

* * *

"It is all her fault," Loki insisted. "The foul witch – for I will call her Queen no longer – poisoned our father. I am certain of it. We must ride back to the castle and cut her down, Thor. To think she moved so swiftly! I knew at once she was evil, but I never suspected such villainy as this." He felt ready to vomit with sorrow and overwhelming rage.

Thor linked his fingers together loosely on Natasha's kitchen table. She had put out one dark lantern and the cold remains of the duck, but no one was hungry. "It seems to me Natasha has guided you well the past few days," he said. "Huntress, what would you suggest?"

"We'll need to plan carefully against the queen if she holds the throne. Better to move the prince to Ivan's hunting box to begin with, as Loki and I already planned. I would like to fetch Ivan, but if things are so heated already it may already be a lost cause."

Loki slid forward, clasped her waist, and the anger burned his throat. "I will make certain your stepfather is saved," he said in a low voice. "If it is the last thing I do, it will be this. Thor, take whatever gold from my room you need – melt down my jewels if need be. Do you mark me?"

"Aye, I'll do what I can."

"Astrid promised me gold and food yesterday," Natasha said. "I meant to stay in this cottage to allay any suspicions, but I think I'll have to move to Ivan's hunting box with Loki and Ivan, if we can secure my stepfather. Once we amass enough supplies, we should travel farther afield and see if we can drum up an army. Only a show of might will get the prince back on the throne where he belongs."

"Astrid! Yes, that is good thinking." Thor nodded. "I will find her myself tomorrow and add more gold to the things she has for you."

"I arranged to meet her at the sun's rise." Natasha scratched at a knife's scar on the table, put there by her ten-year-old self during some childish tantrum against one of Ivan's rules. "Could you arrange a distraction for the queen while I talk with Astrid?"

"Indeed I shall. And as for your step father, I will do what Loki asks and prepare to bribe our way into the healers and out again." Thor rose peered out of the window. "I should ride back to the castle while it is still dark, but you may depend on me tomorrow."

"And me," Loki insisted.

"I shall follow you, Thor." Natasha took down an old cloak from a hook. "Keeping watch is more important now than ever."

Loki was about to argue when Thor said the most intelligent, perspicacious thing he had ever heard from his brother. "Nay! Best stay with Loki in the face of such evil. If you are separated, who knows when you will be reunited again?"

She put her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing as though she expected some plot. "Did he ask you to say so?"

"'Tis easier to defend a stone tower if all are within,'" Loki interjected smoothly. "It was one of my favorite lines from Ragnarsdrápa, and in this case it makes a great deal of sense."

"Exactly. Well said, brother – you were always better with words than I." Thor nodded to them, pulled the prince in for one final embrace, and left; they heard his attempts at being silent die away outside as he crashed and cursed through the sleeping woods.

Natasha wheeled on Loki. "Do you and Thor always team up on unsuspecting maidenss?"

Loki held up his hands in innocent dismay. "Natasha, I am wounded. What he said actually makes perfect sense for once. We should stay together instead of separating so you are to hand if someone does come in the night."

She snorted but couldn't repress a smile. "Seems it's you and me in the bed after all, Prince. Give me a moment, and I'll prepare the sheets for us."

"I am glad you see things my way. Besides, we both need comfort tonight." No, she couldn't leave him on his own – he had to have her flesh next to his, so soft, so alive. And they had waited so long, always with some ridiculous clod or avenging queen sailing in between him and his huntress; Loki thought of the little clearing in the wood and the game with the dagger before Natasha's terrible truth had been revealed. He thought of the quick dalliance they had together at Fandral's dance, broken off by Lorelei's impetuous fancy for him...

_Lorelei._ A feeling of cold reality crashed over him. Loki closed his eyes and remembered waking in the bed with Lorelei and Freya and the queen's clinging embraces the next day, as unwelcome as walking into a spider's web in Frigga's gardens. _What exactly happened that night?_ Such a fool, to drink himself blind and be hauled into the queen's pillows like a betrayed virgin.

At the brink of laying with his love, the brave huntress who had saved his life in so many ways already, Loki couldn't move. Instead he shoved his fists in his eyes and knelt by her little hearth. _Make it not be real,_ he pleaded desperately. It was a ridiculous prayer, never to be answered - as crazy as when he committed some childish crime. A frog, held too tightly and crushed under eager fingers. His first violent argument with his father. Waking from a lusty dream, spurting into his nightclothes for the first time and experiencing embarrassed fear along with the forbidden delight. Then, as now, he knew it would make no difference; still he repeated the hopeless words in his mind anyway: _Frigga, make it not be real._

He felt a warm pressure on his shoulder, as though his mother the queen had placed her hand there and comforted him. Not daring to move, Loki breathed in and sensed a ghost of the herbs she used to carry in her pocket, a tiny whiff of thyme and verbena vanishing as soon as he acknowledged it.

An owl hooted outside, and Loki raised his head. How long had he sat there? He rose and strode to the bedroom, his lust overcoming him in a rush. By the gods, he would have Natasha skewered under him all night, and their pure love could wash away the events of that terrible night. Not only that, he vowed he would confess to her the terrible wrong he had done to her and indeed the entire kingdom. Natasha had tried to tell him something as well; he was sure of it. Before they were interrupted by Thor, she trembled on the brink of revealing a memory that burned her from within.

So they both still carried their secrets, locked in their hearts like caskets enclosing some hidden shame. By the thunder of the gods, he intended to bare his crime to her that very night and listen to hers as well; at last all could be laid in the open. And if she shouted at him in anger and hatred for what he had done, he would... he would...

At the threshold of the bedroom, Loki stopped. Natasha lay in a welter of sheets, her mouth slightly open and eyes closed. She breathed softly, never stirring.

The huntress was asleep.


	10. Ivan

**10 Ivan**

* * *

"I have a surprise for you." Astrid slipped over the palace wall and beckoned to Natasha. "Had to time things just right, but all should be well if you make haste." She held up the long, swaying boughs of a willow; underneath there was a cart with two patient mares hitched to it. The larger of the horses stamped one hoof and blew a quick huff at Natasha's approach.

"This will be difficult to navigate through Milkwood…" Natasha's voice died out with surprise. Lying in the bed of the cart in a nest of pillows and thick eiderdowns was Ivan himself. He tossed fitfully among barrels and crates of what looked like enough food for several months, cheeks marked with the red of high fever. "Astrid, how did you manage it?" Natasha blinked a few tears away. The last occasion she had wept was over Ivan's illness, ages past, when he first fell into a fit during one of their hunts.

"Prince Thor says you have a place of safety." Astrid sucked a molar and lifted her chin at Natasha. "Take care of him and my Loki as well, will you?"

There was something wrong. Natasha leaned over the cart; some evil lay within, and she could sense it like a poisonous flatworm burrowing through the contents. There was no time to investigate, however, and she had to release the guardswoman to her duties. "I'll do my best," Natasha promised. "With a rabid queen on the throne there isn't much security to be had in Asgard."

"Aye. Sad times, but we'll make it all come aright. Do you need more help or a sharp sword, ask for me from any of the palace guards. They'll aid you, sure as eggs." Astrid peered into the cart and sniffed. "Ugh, the smell of that slop the healers use! It felt good to move him away from those bloodsuckers. Three died at their hands just yesterday, and another this morning."

"My thanks." Such small words for so much emotion! Awkwardly Natasha patted Astrid's shoulder; with a hoarse chuckle the woman pulled the huntress into her arms.

"The gratitude is mine for rescuing my prince. Such a small, dark sprite he was as a boy, grown so tall in what seemed a day. And generous with it, if you ever found the way to his heart! Granted he has a violent temper, but I say Loki is good underneath it all, and no one can convince me otherwise."

"I should go," Natasha said with regret; she wished she could stay and talk longer to the guardswoman and hear her stories – not only of Loki and Thor's childhood but also tales from Astrid's lifetime as a guardswoman. _No matter_, she told herself, _when this is all over I will take her to the finest inn and buy her ale so we can speak at our leisure._

Astrid nodded and watched Natasha mount the cart, pick up the reins, and guide the horses forward onto the flattest piece of grass she could find. The guard followed a few paces; when Natasha looked back she saw the woman raise one arm in a salute, her gray hair shining like pure silver in a shaft of early sunlight like a spear thrust through the trees.

* * *

Ringlets of ivy had grown around Ivan's hunting lodge, cascading over each window and both doors; entering the place was like being inside a green bubble or living under the surface of a moat. Natasha frowned as she settled Ivan in a downstairs room while Loki hovered outside. As soon as she emerged into the hallway he gripped her arms. "You are worried – why is that?"

"Yes." She shook her head. "I can smell something on Ivan. At the healers I sensed it before - an herbal smell. And it was on the bag I had to bury in your place, in the unmarked grave."

Loki exclaimed, pulled the door open, and with two long strides crossed to Ivan's pillow. He bent over the man, took in a long breath, and his voice became very grim. "You are right. I sense dittany, with rue and foxglove. This could kill him in hours, perhaps minutes…" He added a curse and pressed his ear to Ivan's chest.

For the first time in her life Natasha felt entirely useless. All she could do was watch as the prince examined her stepfather; his eyebrows drew into a deep frown. At last he rose and motioned for her to go into the hallway where he joined her and spoke in a low, serious voice. "His heart beats too slowly, and he is warmer than I would like. I'll need to go into the wood and find some plants to try and heal him."

She shook her head. "You cannot. As soon as Ivan's disappearance is discovered, the guards will be sent out in full force. We may have Astrid on our side, but her men are sworn to uphold the throne – and Lorelei now sits there."

"You would gamble your stepfather's life for mine?"

"Listen." Natasha pressed her hands to his shirtfront. She recalled waking next to him in her little bed that morning, clasped to his chest by the sleeping prince. Tempting it had been to stay, perhaps to wake him with a caress. The result would have been an enthusiastic tumble, she was sure of it, but instead Natasha had dutifully tiptoed away to meet Astrid while he slumbered on. "Could you describe what you need? I know every inch of these woods, and if the plant grows here I will find it."

"Better than that – I'll draw them. Do you have parchment and lead?"

Natasha dashed to the tiny kitchen, dark and smudged with smoke from countless ancient fires. Ivan kept old notebooks in one drawer as well as the stumps of a few pencils. Instantly Loki seized one and began to sketch quick strokes on the rough paper with long flicks of his wrist. "We'll need foxglove – yes, I know it was in the poison, but I can use it to quicken his heartbeat again. Willow bark, you know what that is. Mallow. Wild garlic. Devil's Snare for his breathing – spiked leaves with pale purple flowers shaped like tubes."

"Yes, I've seen them," Natasha said. "I know exactly where to go to find the plants." She watched his intent expression, enjoying the way he frowned slightly over the drawing. It was strange to see Loki focused on something other than her or his books.

One last instruction and he whipped the paper at her. "There. As quickly as possible." She took it and headed to the front door, before he shouted, "Natasha!"

"What is it?"

He stood in the doorway, one hand on the lintel. "For the sake of the gods and my sanity, take care."

* * *

When Natasha returned with a filled pouch, a long ribbon of curses unfurled from the kitchen as soon as she opened the door. "Bloody fire!…Bloody kettle…bloody chimney!" For the first time in days she felt laughter bubble through her like stars in Milkwood stream, and she followed the sound of Loki's furious voice. She found him in the kitchen, covered with soot. He wielded a poker in one hand, an old kettle in the other; as soon as she appeared he wheeled on her. "What does it take to light a fire in this house? A welterweight of cannon?"

"I suppose the chimneys are a bit backed up…"

"Backed up! I wouldn't be surprised if your draugr built her nest inside this mantel. I'll be damned if I can get the smoke to stop filling the entire ground floor as soon as I approach with a match." As if to prove the justice of his statement a large cloud belched forth from the hearth, and Loki flung one arm at it in angry triumph. "There. You see?"

"Why do you want to start a fire in any case?"

"For the medicine. I can't just wave the ingredients over Ivan's chest and recite an incantation."

"Fair enough." Natasha swallowed her mirth and pushed him gently to the door. "Go have a look at your patient, and I'll start the fire."

"Ha! I wish you luck and wager you cannot have it going before the turn of the hour."

"I'll take that bet." She gave him another shove. "Go on, and brush some of the soot off before you go near the new bed-linens."

* * *

When Loki reappeared looking somewhat cleaner, Natasha had the fire lit, the kettle steaming on the hearth, and the supplies from Astrid's cart stowed away in various cupboards and drawers. Strangely there were few traces of mice or rats, even though no one had been in the house for months. The plants were laid out on the table, arranged neatly by species.

He raised his eyebrows, and Natasha felt a chill in her heart. "How is he?" she asked.

"Weak, and getting weaker. Get me some of that boiling water in a pot, a knife and a mortar if you have one." He examined the limp leaves on the table and nodded. "Yes, these will do."

Natasha handed him the items, and Loki went to work. As he chopped the willow bark, slit open the foxgloves, and crushed the Devil's Snare, her curiosity grew until she could bear it no longer. "Where did you learn to do all this?"

He looked up in astonishment. "Books, of course. And – and from my mother." Instantly he resumed his preparations. Once all was ready, Loki had Natasha load a large tray with a variety of teas, salves, and drops made from the ingredients.

* * *

In the bed Ivan lay whey-faced with fever. The prince immediately started to work on him, demanding one concoction after another. Natasha responded as soon as Loki spoke, moving with the prince as though they stepped the measures of a complicated dance together – first tea, then steam, then ointment rubbed into Ivan's chest and his upper lip. In the middle of an intense bout of coughing her stepfather gasped, expelled a long sigh, and turned blue from lack of air.

Natasha froze, but Loki bent over the man, pressed both fists to his chest, and began to pummel the skin over Ivan's heart. "Breathe for him," he panted. "One hand over his nose and blow into his mouth – _now,_ huntress!" She shook off her daze and rushed to do what he commanded. She expelled a long stream of air into the parted lips and saw Ivan's lungs expand, contract.

"And again."

Repetition. More breaths, more pressing on the old man's chest. Again. And again. Something in the old house rustled, and in that strange, green light Natasha feared it was Ivan's spirit preparing to take flight.

Just when she was about to cry out it was too late and she had lost her childhood hero, the man who rescued her when she was a bewildered child caught in the web of constant degradation at the hands of the two boys who abused her, Ivan seemed to gulp and took in a long breath on his own. The man's eyelids fluttered, and Loki nodded. "His heart. I can feel it, Natasha, beating on its own under my hands. We have done it, you and I."

* * *

The miracle was complete but healing just begun. All through that long night Loki and Natasha worked ceaselessly over their patient, coaxing him to swallow more tinctures and receive yet another of what Loki classed 'a thorough steaming.' It involved heating water over the sulky fire, plopping in a careful mixture of herbs, and holding a cup of the stuff under Ivan's chin. Throughout the fight for the man's life, Natasha heard a series of slight thumps upstairs, a series of scratches. _Was the place haunted?_ If so, she determined to battle with the ghosts for her protector's soul.

Any interactions with the prince consisted of nothing more than muttered commands and acquiescence – _Fetch me another pot of water this instant, Natasha_ and _Don't knock it over, Prince Clumsy _- and yet Natasha felt she and Loki were closer than if they lay skin to skin in her old tree house or her maiden's bed. Her eyes burned with exhaustion; her knees shook from carrying the heavy kettle back and forth. She knew she looked a fright with her hair curling from the steam and face singed with the eternal soot; it was most unfair that Loki looked quite as elegant as usual, only purple bruises under his eyes to betray his exhaustion.

Long after midnight Ivan fell suddenly into a natural sleep, and the prince and huntress looked steadily at one another. Loki beckoned to Natasha, and she followed him into the passageway, unable to hold back a tiny sob of relief.

He removed the cup of tisane from her hands and placed it carefully on an old hall table. His lips drew back in a snarl as he seized her arms and jerked Natasha to his chest with violent passion. In the room above, something scrabbled in the eaves: _scritch, scritch, scritch_; intent on each other, they both ignored the tiny sounds.

There among the ivy and soot of the old house, Loki kissed Natasha's lips, hands, and neck as though he could not bear to stop.


End file.
